


On The Night You Were Born

by anorak188



Series: The 103 [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23694781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anorak188/pseuds/anorak188
Summary: It's July 10, 2153, the night August Blake is born.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The 103 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706335
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	On The Night You Were Born

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly meant to leave them alone, but I felt a little guilty giving Apollo all the attention, so here's a bonus epilogue of the story of August's birth.

_**38 weeks 6 days July 6, 2153** _

“I’m serious, Bellamy.” He gives me a peck on the lips before mounting his horse. “If you’re not back in time and you miss the birth. . .” I warn.

“You’re worrying about nothing,” he says. “You went almost a week overdue with Apollo. By that count, I’ll have three weeks to spare. Maybe more.”

I grab at his leg, forcing him not to leave yet. “I don’t think you’re worrying enough. I’m telling you; this baby feels so low I expect to just look down one day and see an arm hanging out.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. You know that.” He reaches down and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. “I know you want Iris to get her own life. This is how it happens.”

Lexa had convinced the delegates to meet in TonDc instead of Polis just so Bellamy could be nearby, just in case. As it turns out, she does have a heart. “I do, but I also want you here.”

“Just tell her to stay in there a little while longer. I’ll be back soon.”

“Him,” I correct him. 

“We’ll see,” he laughs. He digs his heels into the horse’s sides, following behind Clarke, Lincoln, and Althea, who has five-year-old Iris tucked between her arms in front of her. “Love you! Don’t have that baby before I’m back!”

I tell him I love him too and turn away from the gate. Apollo was across the courtyard helping his beloved ‘Raeyn’ repair the rover. He sat crouched next to her toolbox as she laid underneath the chasse, handing her tools and looking seriously at the piece of machinery in front of him, like it’s up to him and him alone to solve the problem. I suppose one day it will be.

How can my tiny, eight pound baby be big enough to play mechanic already?

“Hey Raven,” I say, walking up to the two of them. “Are you helping, Apollo?”

He looks up at me, a splatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose, grease smeared on his cheek and forehead and all over his hands, a grin so big I can’t help but love him even more, mess and all. “Yes Mama!”

“Good.” I ruffle his curls. “Can you watch him just a little longer, Raven? I have to go see Abby for my appointment.”

“All good here,” she says, ratcheting something underneath the rover with a wrench. She lays something down beside her. “Do you see this Apollo?” He crawls underneath the rover with her, laying arm to arm with her. “These are the struts.”

“I’ll come get him when I’m done,” I tell her. 

“I’ll give him back when we’re done,” she says. “He’s my helper.”  


It feels nice to sit on the exam table of the medical building, knowing that this baby has been able to receive all the proper prenatal care on time – save an ultrasound, which we don’t have the equipment for – by a real, licensed doctor. Even so, I feel a pang of loss for the simplicity of Apollo’s prenatal care, which more often than not was just Clarke listening to his heartbeat with the stethoscope and checking his position near the end. Those nine months bonded us together; somehow putting your and your child’s life in the hands of a barely capable eighteen year old when you yourself are only eighteen, creates a trust that cannot be expressed in words. Though both Jackson and Abby have looked after this baby for me, I want only one person to deliver them – and that’s Clarke.

Which is why she and Bellamy better get their asses back home before I go into labor. 

Abby comes in and flips through my chart. “Happy almost-thirty-nine weeks, Morgan.”

“I’m not going to make it to thirty-nine weeks,” I tell her as she sits down on the stool at the foot of the bed. 

She frowns. “Are you having contractions?”

I shake my head. “No more than normal, but I’m telling you, this baby is about to fall out. Have you seen me lately? My belly looks like a forty-five degree angle.”

“Lay back,” she orders. She feels along my stomach and takes measurements, charting as she goes. “Well, Morgan, I’m inclined to agree that you won’t make it to your due date. I do hope Bellamy can make it back in time.”

“You’re telling me. I feel like everyone I want with me just left for TonDc.”

She pats my leg. “You’ll have me or Jackson, no matter what, and you know we’ll see you through. One of us will be with you regardless, just in case you hemorrhage again and Clarke needs help.”

“I really, really hope I don’t hemorrhage again.” I don’t remember much after Apollo was born until late that evening. I don’t want that this time. I want to hold my new baby all day and breathe in that new baby scent for as long as it lasts. I pull out a piece of paper from my pocket. “Just in case though, I made a list of medications to give me in case Althea or I aren’t here or aren’t conscious to tell you.”

Abby takes the list from me and looks it over. “You don’t think Murphy could handle an emergency?”

“I’m told he almost threw up when he saw all the blood last time. He’ll never admit it, but I have more than one witness who says otherwise.”

She tucks the note into my chart. “I’ll make sure Jackson sees this too. In the meantime, try to get some rest. Hopefully labor won’t be as long this time, but I can’t make any promises.”

I laugh. “Rest? With a three-year-old? Yeah right.”

“Do try,” she encourages. 

I slide off the exam table. “I’ll rest when I’m old and they’re grown.”

**_39 weeks 2 days July 9, 2153 3:46 PM_ **

I pace the floor of the pharma cabin, occasionally stopping to rest my arms against the work table or squat in a most unladylike position in the floor, a strange command from my body I didn’t get last time. “Bellamy better get his ass back here, I’m telling you.”

Murphy had tried to be helpful, but I was not in the mood to be touched or spoken to during contractions, so he instead kept working unless spoken to, though I did catch a worried glimpse from him from time to time. “Do you want me to go see if I can catch up to him?”

“No,” I wave him off. “No, I need you to tell me when Apollo wakes up,” I gesture to him taking a later than usual nap on the cot in the corner, “because once he does someone has to take him.” I sway from side to side as I lean against the table, waiting for the next contraction. I keep reminding myself I did this for twenty-six straight hours last time so I can make it through this, but I’m convinced they’re coming harder and faster than last time. “I’m definitely having a baby tonight, there’s no question.”

He stands. “I should go get one of the doctors.”

“Wait,” I clamp down on his wrist as I feel the next wave roll in. “Wait for this one.”

When it passes, my handprint is left behind on his wrist in red marks.

“Go,” I tell him. “Hurry back before the next one.”

_Four minutes. You have four minutes to yourself before the next one._

I sit down at the table, trying to conserve energy while I can, and flip to the back of my pharma book, now filled in with nearly a hundred medicinal plants, formulas, and treatments, and my own new recipes scribbled in the corners of the pages and in every blank space. On the last page is a list of baby names, written just over three years ago by a terrified but excited new dad as he waited for his fake wife and unborn child to come home.

My eyes settle on the first name. Augustus. I dismiss it internally, disliking the mouthful it is to say. I can’t see myself shouting it across the courtyard as he takes a dive in the mud.

Another contraction rolls in and this one, halfway to its peak, breaks my water and soaks my legs. I smack my hand against the table, impatient for this one to let up so I can go change. When it ends, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and open my eyes. 

My eyes settle on the page again, at my hand covering up the last two letters of the name. 

August.

Apollo and August. August and Apollo. Bellamy, Morgan, Apollo, and August. 

August Blake.

I tilt my head. “Little one, if you’re a boy, I do believe you’ve just named yourself.”

I hear a voice from outside the cabin. “Hey Morgan! They’re back!”

Finally. I step outside and see the four of them returning, and wet pants or not, he’s going to hear it, and the whole camp is going to listen. 

“You were this close,” I yell at him from across the courtyard, pinching my fingers. “My water just broke.”

He swings down off the horse and hands the reigns to Octavia. “Is this a joke?”

I gesture to my wet legs. “What do you think?”

He pulls me into a hug and whispers in my ear, “Miss me that much?”

I shove him off me and squat down again, letting the contraction roll though.

He gets down at my level and puts a hand on my back, rubbing it. “Hey, remember you have to breathe.”

I heave a sigh as it releases. I know I shouldn’t, but it just feels like instinct to hold my breath.

“You’re really in labor then?”

I roll my eyes up at him. “I’m not sure Bellamy, why don’t you tell me?”

He helps me stand. “Where’s Apollo?”

I motion to the pharma cabin. “He’s in there napping. He threw such a fit about it today and didn’t fall asleep until almost an hour ago. I think he knows his time as an only child is about to come to an end.”

Bellamy turns around. “Clarke, can you walk her to our cabin?” He looks around. “Where’s Abby?”

Just as he says it, Abby appears around the corner of our house, a bag in hand. “Come on, Morgan,” she says. “Let’s have this baby.”

Clarke takes my arm. “Second time’s the charm, huh?”

"They say that about the third time. I have to make it through this one to see if they’ll even be a third.”

“I can imagine you with a whole house full of little Bellamy and Morgans. Brown eyes and freckles all around and who knows – maybe this one will be your redhead.” She’s distracting.

I hear Althea ask Lincoln to take Iris and goes ahead of us to help Abby prepare. I turn to Clarke. “Isn’t it weird how we were the criminals once and now we’re the ones who have all the freedom in the world? We can have as many children as we want, we can make mistakes, we can really live, and no one is going to kill us because of one wrong choice.” I put a hand on my back. “I wish it had been the generation before us. I wish Aurora could get to meet her grandchildren. And I wish Bellamy didn’t still try to carry the responsibility of Octavia. It was never his to bear.”

“Aurora may never get to, but I know how proud she is of her son and what good care he takes of his family.” Clarke smiles. “While she may never see her grandchildren, you will.”

I laugh. “I’m sorry, I just can’t imagine my little boy as a dad. It’s so hard to think that one day those soft little cheeks will be covered in scruff.”

Clarke opens the door for me. Abby lays down a plastic sheet to save the mattress and covers it with a blanket for softness. Althea stands at our dresser, pulling something out of one of the drawers.

She turns to me, holding something out. “You should wear this.”

I take it from her. “Your dress? You do remember what a mess birth is, don’t you?”

She laughs. “You do remember what soap is, right?”

I shake my head. “It’ll stain. I’ll ruin it and you worked so hard on it.”

She forces it into my hands. “Even if it stains, it’ll be the best day of this dress’s life. Three pregnancies and it’s never seen a baby born yet.”

The light, airy fabric does feel so tempting in the July heat.

“Put it on,” she insists. “You need to get out of those jeans anyway.”

After yet another contraction, I change into the dress. Although I’d worn it several times with this pregnancy, it feels different to put it on now, to smell the sun on the fabric and know what a whirlwind this dress is about to go through, and how my life too will be forever changed by this day.

“Let’s get you on the bed just for a moment to check on everything,” Abby instructs, pulling out the stethoscope. “Then you can get up and do whatever feels right.”

I sit down on the edge of the bed and swing my legs over. “Actually, could Clarke do it? Just for old times’ sake?”

Abby hands the stethoscope to her daughter with a proud smile. “Here you go, Dr. Griffin.”

Clarke takes the stethoscope from her mom and listens. “140.” She leans back and puts the stethoscope away. She looks at me sympathetically. “I know you hate this part, and I wouldn’t do it unless I thought it was necessary, but I do think it’s wise we get a baseline cervical check given how long you went last time, and especially since your water broke so quickly.”

I scrunch my face up, dreading this part. “Go ahead.”

Clarke washes her hands in a basin and then dons a pair of gloves. “Okay, here we go.”

Bellamy chooses that exact time to return. “Okay, Apollo is with Raven now. We made plans for her to take him if this goes late into the night and –” He looks up. “And Clarke has her hand up Morgan.”

“Four centimeters,” Clarke says, drawing her hand back. “How long have you been having contractions?”

“Most of the morning,” I shrug. “They didn’t get bad until an hour or two ago.”

Clarke’s eyes widen but she doesn’t say anything. “Clue us in next time, hm?”

“I thought it was Braxton-Hicks, honestly. Didn’t seem necessary to bother you with false labor.”

Clarke pulls off the gloves. “Except it was real labor.” She washes her hands again. “If I was a betting woman, I’d bet you’ll have this baby before midnight. Maybe even before nine.”

“‘If I was a betting woman’.” I roll my eyes. “Like your name isn’t up there on Baby Blake #2’s prediction board.”

“Alright Miss ‘Boy, July 15th, 6:44 pm’,” Clarke laughs.

“It’s my baby. I can make all the bets I want.”

Clarke helps me up. “I suggest you go take a walk if you feel up to it. It’ll help speed things along and hopefully we can avoid another twenty-six hour labor.”

“It’ll also help that it’s your second,” Abby says from the corner. “Each baby tends to come faster than the last.”

“Well at least I have that to look forward to,” I say. I take Bellamy’s hand. “You heard the doctor. We’re going to walk this baby out.”

**_39 weeks 2 days July 9, 2153 11:52 PM_ **

“Come on, Morgan,” Clarke encourages. “You’re so close. This is the worst part and it’s almost over.”

Both Clarke and Abby encouraged me to push in whatever position felt right, and that ended up being on all fours, my arms bracing Bellamy’s as he sat on the floor in front of me, pulling me out of the chaos of the room and giving me a sense of stability when all I wanted to do was quit.

"Hey, hey. Look at me.”

I look up at him, blinking sweat out of my eyes. Althea's dress had come off anyway, so it still didn't get to see its first birth. The air had gone hot and thick and humid in the last few hours, and though I hadn’t been outside to look at the sky, I knew it would rain soon. At least I hoped it would, because the air feels suffocating.

“I’m here.” He smiles. “I’m right here.”

I let out a shaky breath, trying not to throw up. “I’m gonna puke.”

“No you’re not,” Althea says, dipping a cloth in water and wiping it along my forehead, neck, and shoulders, the evaporation a welcome distraction, cooling me down.

I dip my shoulders and let my head fall forward, begging for a break. “I can’t do this.”

Althea runs the cloth along my forehead, using the water to lay back the fallen hairs out of my face. “You don’t have to.” She rewets the cloth and does it again. “Remember what I said when you were pregnant with Apollo? Your body is designed to do it all by itself.” She hangs the cloth over the back of my neck and wets another to rub over my shoulders. “Surrender to what your body tells you.” 

I try to listen to her and let the tension go, letting my body direct itself. The rest of the room does too, relaxing into the silence. There is no coaching, no speaking, no touching except for my arms against Bellamy’s, holding me steady while I let go of the world and turn my attention to my single task at hand: bringing forth this new life. 

At the sound of the first cry, the silence shatters into shouts of joy, a million voices mingling in the cabin, but I don’t hear any of them, only the “You did it,” from the one who matters most. 

He kisses me. “I knew you could. I never doubted you.”

It’s such a strange feeling, the moment you are cleaved from one into two, connected only by a single thread. 

I look down. “Boy or girl?”

Clarke wraps the baby up in a blanket and passes them up between my legs. “I’ll let you decide.”

My shaky fingers take hold of the new baby, still with a smear of blood on its cheek and vernix covering its head. Though it’s been three years, one touch and I can tell this baby is bigger than Apollo.

My gut feeling still says boy, but I’m too excited to check and see.

“Well?” Bellamy asks. “What do we have? Son or daughter?”

I shake my head. “You check.”

He gently peels back the blanket, waiting for the answer to a question that’s been raised for the last nine months. I’m too busy watching his reaction to look for myself.

He grins, a smile so wide I think it might break his face. He looks up at me. “It’s a boy.”

I laugh. “I told you.”

“That you did,” he laughs. He kisses me again. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Thank you for my son. For both my sons.”

This isn’t a gift given by one of us alone. I take his hand. “Thank you for my son. For both my sons.”

He wipes the blood off our new son’s tiny face with a thumb. “Of all the things we’ve ever done, this is one of my favorites. My other favorite is in the cabin next door, hopefully not pestering Raven too much and actually in bed.”

I trace the bump of his tiny nose. “Mine too.”

Clarke appears at my side with a roll of string and a pair of scissors. She hands the scissors to Bellamy. “I’ll clamp, you cut?”

“Oh. Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I’d do it right.”

Clarke unwraps the blanket and ties a length of string around the cord about an inch from the baby, then a second knot just after that. She practically forces the scissors in his hands. “All you have to do is cut between the knots.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll hurt him.”

“You can’t,” Clarke reassures him. “There are no nerves in the umbilical cord.”

“Are you sure?”

Clarke nods. “I promise.”

After a few attempts with the scissors, he manages to make it official. We are two. We are separate. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little.

Clarke hands a bowl containing the placenta over to Abby to be checked over. “How do you feel?”

I smile at her. “I feel amazing.”

“It’s whole,” Abby announces, lifting a weight off everyone’s shoulders. 

Clarke wraps a hand around my arm. “Let’s get you in bed then. No need to spend the night kneeling on the floor.”

“You know what I’m going to ask for.”

“Let’s settle for a bed bath this time, okay?” Clarke laughs. “You can have a good shower in the morning.”

“Fine,” I laugh, only half meaning it. Though I love my children dearly, they make such a mess when they come in the world and I end up bearing the most of it, which I suppose is still true for years after.

_**1 hour and 16 minutes old July 10, 2153** _

All clean and tucked into bed, I soak in these few moments alone with my brand new son. It’s sometime after 1 AM. This little one was born at 12:11, just past midnight on the 10th. 

The door opens, and a sleep deprived but adrenaline-filled Bellamy comes back with that ridiculously fancy teapot and teacups. “Are you sure you don’t want a snack? I have no qualms about waking Monty up. Or maybe I could find something in the kitchen. I’d get you anything you want.”

I shake my head. “I’m too tired to eat right now. If I change my mind, I’ll let you know.” I nod to the teapot. “You didn’t bring tea, did you?”

“I did not,” he says, sitting the cups down by the side of the bed. He pours both cups full of water. “Taste it.”

I take a cup and hold mine out to him. “To us. And to our family.”

He clicks his cup against mine. “To us.”

I take a sip. I’m not sure what I’m tasting is real. “This is ice cold. How? Where did you get ice in the middle of July?”

“I didn’t,” he says, taking a sip. “Raven and Monty have been working on building a fridge, but it’s still in the prototype phase because everything in there is frozen solid, including the jug of water they were trying to keep cool. I chipped some of it off.”

I look at him and bite my lip. “I think I just fell in love with you a little more.”

He smiles. “I would’ve brought you ice water before this if I knew that.”

We down the water, and by we I mean me, who definitely sweated at least a gallon today. After the teapot is empty, he crawls in bed next to me and I pass the baby to him, giving my arms a break. 

“What do you want to name him?”

I lean my head against his shoulder. “Today while I was imagining all the mean things I would say to you if he was born before you got back – ”

“Hey now.”

“I meant it then and I mean it now. Anyway, I was in the pharma cabin and my book was open to the page you wrote baby names on before Apollo was born, and during a contraction my hand covered the word just right. I think we should name him August.”

Bellamy smiles. “I like Augustus.”

“Hold on there,” I stop him. “August. Not Augustus.”

“Why not Augustus?”

“It’s too long. Besides. We’ll end up calling him August anyway.”

“That’s probably true,” he agrees. “I’ll compromise on August.” 

He runs his hand over August’s tiny head, which is endearingly bald, save a few tiny brown hairs at the base of his neck – the polar opposite of Apollo as a newborn – and August snuggles into his chest.

Someone knocks on the door. It’s Raven. “Morgan? Bellamy?” she asks through the door. “Can I come in? Apollo had a bad dream and he’s asking for you guys.”

“Come in,” I tell her. 

Apollo, a little too heavy for Raven to carry with her bad leg, clings to her shoulder until he catches sight of us, and then nothing stands between him and his beloved Mama and Daddy. 

He crawls in bed with us and I help him up, though the weight of him hurts to haul over the edge of the bed. He snuggles into my side, unsure of who Bellamy is holding.

“This is your brother, Apollo,” he says. “We named him August.”

He turns his head away and leans into my chest, clearly too tired to be bothered with meeting new siblings. I hug him close, remembering the early morning he was born, and more so of the night after, when Bellamy and I stayed up all night just looking at him. 

“You’ll always be my baby, you know that right?” I stroke his hair, no longer the fine baby hair he once had, now turning coarser and thicker, maturing the same way he is. “No matter how big you get or how many brothers or sisters you have, you will always have my heart and all my love. I promise you.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just wraps a piece of my hair around his finger, his favorite comfort object. 

“Let’s lay down,” I tell him, opening the covers for him to crawl in beside me. “You can sleep with us tonight.”

Bellamy lays down with us too, August lying next to him, and reaches out his hand for mine. I take it, enclosing our two sons between us, protecting them in a barrier of our love. There will be no bad dreams for anyone tonight. 


End file.
